


Master of Laws, Master of Whispers

by atimefordirewolves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atimefordirewolves/pseuds/atimefordirewolves
Summary: 2 years after sailing West, Arya Stark has returned to Westeros' shores. She came expecting to tell everyone of her discoveries; what she didn't expect was a brother who seemed like her brother again, two marriages, a baby, a brother spiralling away from her, a blue eyed bull... and a job offer.Mostly canon-compliant post S8, except for:- Theon being alive. His injuries were life threatening, but he overcame them, and stayed in Winterfell to recover when everyone else marched South. He has been in Winterfell ever since.





	1. The Winged Wolf

**BRAN**

 

_The little boat with the direwolf sails had begun to sail west... it had left port at Braavos... it was loaded with maps, clothes and items for trade, a crew of people from all across the shores of Essos, Ulthos, and Sothoryos... he could hear their laughter, see their smiles... a ship bursting with discoveries from Asshai and Yi-Ti, from western Ulthos and northern Sothoryos..._

_And stood at the bow of the ship, next to the giant wooden direwolf, was the girl with the dark hair and grey eyes... she was smiling and laughing with her new found friends... (she could make friends anywhere)... her hair was in a long braid and she wore clothes of black and gold, silks of Qarth... but her Needle remained unchanged at her hip..._

_As the ship moved through the waves, she breathed a sigh of relief, clutching a cup of wine to her chest as she smiled at the horizon... home..._

 

"Bran... Bran?  **Earth to _Brandon Stark_**!" 

Bran's eyes snapped back to what was in front of him, rolling away from the other side of the world. His heart was hammering in his chest as a smile spread across his face.

"Are you alright? You've been out for a while."

He looked to his right, to the woman lying in bed next to him. Her left hand was gently stroking his forehead, whilst her right hand was protectively cradling the bump across her belly. She shuffled in bed to look Bran in the eye, her dark hair flopping in front of her eyes, wincing slightly as she did so.

He raised his eyebrows at Meera's terrible attempt to hide any pain. "More importantly, are  _you_ alright?"

"They're just kicking," she said, rolling her eyes and taking Bran's hand to place it next to hers on her stomach. "You feel it?"

Bran could feel it, and the second smile of the morning spread across his face. That was  _his baby._ His and  _Meera_ , his  _wife's_ , baby. 

Sometimes, Bran couldn't quite believe the life he had been living for the past two years. Just as he had accepted his fate to have lost Bran Stark, and be simply the Three Eyed Raven with Bran Stark's face, Bran Stark came running back to him. It was as though by finally completing what the Three Eyed Raven's destiny was - to rule the Kingdoms fairly and justly, with all the knowledge and history of the world on his shoulders - the Three Eyed Raven gave him himself back. He had felt the change like a punch to the chest; he could  _feel_ again. He could feel anger, happiness, love, loss, joy. The loss of Jon to the Wall, of Arya to the sea, of Sansa miles away in the North suddenly hit him with full force, and it was all he could do to stop himself from crying out. The loss of Jojen and Hodor and Summer all those years ago, of Rickon and Osha, of Robb and Mother and Father... And then he remembered.

Meera was still alive, and he had sent her away with no kind words. Because he hadn't been Bran Stark. He hadn't been able to tell her how much he loved her, how much he cared - because he hadn't been Brandon Stark. 

 **"You died in that cave** **"** \- the words had haunted him, day and night. Because, he supposed, he  _had_. But he was back now. He was  _Bran_ again now.

He had sent for Meera, and she had come, as she always did. And when she saw that he was  _Bran_ again, she fell into his arms sobbing and swearing, and saying she refused to ever be sent from his side again. And, through the first tears he had shed in years, he promised her wholeheartedly. He was hers, and she was his, from this day until their last days.

It turned out that Sansa's assumption Bran couldn't have children was wrong too, although admittedly when she had assumed this Bran had had no desire to ever test out the solidity of this statement. Sansa and Theon's faces the day they had come to visit King's Landing and Bran told them he was married with a child on the way... well, it was a response Bran hoped he would never ever forget. Disbelief to shock to joy to the two of them throwing their arms around Bran and Meera, happily sobbing. 

Bran often wondered how Robb would feel about Theon marrying his sister. He hoped he would be happy, and proud. Sansa and Theon had no children of their own, for obvious reasons, but Winterfell was full of orphans from the Great War, and the children played with toy krakens and direwolves. Theon had refused to be called King, stating he had tried to rule the North before by force, and would never ask the Northmen to bow to him again. Sansa had tried to argue with him, but Theon had been firm. He would not let people believe in any possibility of him marrying her for anything other than love. He ruled with her, but did not want the title of King. In his spare time, Bran often enjoyed looking to the North, to watch Theon train the orphans with bows and arrows in the way he had trained Bran as a child. They all loved him. Sansa and Theon were at peace, and happy, and the North prospered under their rule.

Yes, Bran thought. Robb  _would_ be proud of them.

 

_The little ship had hit bad weather... most of the sailors ran inside for cover... but the She-Wolf stayed at the helm, a smile spreading across her face... she shut her eyes as the rain drenched her clothes, her face, her hair... "It's just a storm," she whispered to herself, smiling... "he lives where the storms are worst in Westeros..."... the crew muttered to themselves and shook their head in amusement... the brave She-Wolf they had followed across the world, murmuring about the beauty of storms..._

 

"Bran, you're doing it again," Meera's voice jolted Bran out of his vision for the second time.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, pushing himself up so he was sat up instead of lying down. "I have been trying to control the visions more of late you know..."

"I know," Meera whispered, tracing shapes on his arm. As he smiled down at her, she leaned forward to kiss his shoulder gently. "And I don't resent you for them. Without your visions, the Six Kingdoms would not be the safe place they are now... nor the North, to be frank..."

She shuffled again, to rest her head on Bran's shoulder. He leaned his head down to lean against hers, and shut his eyes. This was his favourite time of day. Morning, before duties began, when he could just lay in bed with Meera watching the sun rise through the window. Even if he missed the North, he had the North with him always because of her. 

"Our child will be born into a much safer world than the one we grew up in," Bran agreed gently, moving his hand back to Meera's stomach to feel the baby's kicks. 

"What do you need to do today?" Meera asked, threading her fingers through Bran's on her stomach. 

"The usual, really," Bran said. "Tax collection is next week, so I need to make sure Bronn has the accounts ready. We need to lower tax for the smallfolk, again. It's just not manageable for them to keep paying as much as we expect them to. And the last tax cut we made has actually made business flourish more down in Fleabottom, so I'd say it's worth it. My Uncle Edmure is coming to King's Landing this afternoon with reports of the Riverlands' expenditure this month. It's still in deficit, but making steady growth. And," Bran sighed heavily, "Tyrion is undoubtedly going to push on me another list of potential Masters of Law and Masters of Whispers."

"I don't understand  _how_ you've got away with not appointing people to those roles. For  _two years_ ," Meera chuckled.

Bran shrugged. "It's simple. I know who we need for those roles. But they aren't ready to be those people yet. I'm not prepared to threaten the stability of the Kingdoms by throwing anybody in, regardless of their expertise."

"How cryptic. Bran, Lord Baratheon won't want to be Master of Law. We've been through this."

"Didn't  _used to_ want to be Master of Law," Bran corrected her, giving her that cryptic smile he knew irritated her so much. "But times are changing. It's almost time now."

"Time for  _what_?"

"Arya's sailing home."

Meera shot up in bed.

" _Careful of our child!"_ Bran yelped.

" _That's_ what you've been glazing off about today? Your sister's on her way back? Seven hells, Bran, if I'd known  _that's_ what you were switching off to look at I never would have dragged you out of it!"

"... Surprise?"

Meera walloped a pillow at his head. "So what, your plan is for Arya to come back, take up the role of Master of Whispers, and then she'll persuade Gendry to take the role of Master of Laws? That's your complex, well planned out... plan?"

"Yes," Bran said simply. As Meera began to roll her eyes, Bran reached for her wrists, willing her to understand. "He loves her, still. He's turned down every betrothal that's come his way. Arya doesn't know I know about the proposal, and neither does he. But that's  _part_ of why she left. She loves him, and needed to know if she still would after two years of healing aboard a ship."

"And does she?"

"Well, I mean, I accidentally saw her doing...  _something_ whilst gasping out his name, so I  _assume_ -"

Another pillow was walloped at his head. "Bran! You need to stop  _spying_ on your sisters!"

"It wasn't my  _fault_ , I didn't  _know_ that's what she'd be doing when I looked!"

"Like you didn't know that time you spied up North -"

"Excuse me, Theon and Sansa should  _absolutely_ know better than to be fooling about in front of the heart tree -"

"And you should absolutely know better than to  _recount everything in excess detail to me_. They're my goodbrother and goodsister now, I don't need to know!"

" _Anyway_ ," Bran said loudly, swiftly trying to move the conversation on, "Arya will be back within two days. She's dressed in black and gold as we speak."

Meera dropped the pillow. "But... those are Baratheon colours."

Bran nodded. "She still loves him, Meera."

"So you're going to use your sister's emotions to shamelessly manipulate Gendry into joining the Small Council?"

"Don't you love me," Bran grinned.

"You are  _shameless_ , Brandon Stark," Meera rolled her eyes, but moved onto his lap, legs straddling his. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently, and Bran's heart thought it might burst. "But I love you," she whispered, as he cradled her face and kissed her back. The most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, and she was here, on his lap, only a thin nightdress between him and her bare skin...

"Good morning, Your Graces - oh! I'm sorry!" The serving girl in the doorway went bright red when she saw the position Bran and Meera were in. 

"It's alright, Alys," Bran said calmly, taking Meera by the hips and unceremoniously dumping her back onto the mattress. That got him another wallop from the pillow. "I need to get started with the day anyway."

Alys nodded, still red in the face. "Ser Bronn awaits you at your pleasure, your Grace." She awkwardly curtsied, then almost ran out of the room.

Meera began giggling uncontrollably the moment the door slammed shut. "We  _really_ need to put a lock on that door..."

Bran pulled her back onto his lap, tugging at the hem of her nightdress. "Now..." he whispered, as she pulled it up over her head, "where were we?"

Meera leaned forward, and Bran could feel them both smiling as they kissed, his hands exploring the skin he knew and loved so well, caressing her back as she pulled at the laces on his breeches. This was life. This was happiness. This was the life Brandon Stark was meant to be living, and he thanked both the Old Gods and the new every day that he got to live it with her.

 

_She was still smiling, even as the rain continued to pour... her hand went to a charm around her neck, a pendant in the shape of a bull... she grinned and laughed easily with her friends from Yi-Ti who had joined her, her happiness infectious even in the rain... she was Arya Stark, of Winterfell... and she was going home..._


	2. A Wolf Can Swim, So Why Shouldn't I?

**ARYA**

 

The wind whistled through her ears as she stood at the helm of the ship, her long braid spinning with it. A few loose tendrils of hair had come loose, and fell in front of her eyes, but she still couldn't stop smiling. Two years was a long time. She had wanted those two years, needed them. Too much had happened in her time back in Westeros - she had needed time to heal.

Arya could make friends with anyone, and so she had. The crew of the ship  _Nymeria_ had more than doubled since she had set off from Oldtown, braving their way across the Sunset Sea. They had paused at the legendary islands of Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya, the last points of known land, and had found one or two brave sailors who wished to journey with them. From there they had sailed for weeks into endless sea - sun and storms greeted them, and Arya had relished every moment. She had danced on the deck with her new sailors, sung and twirled in the rain with Myriah and Edric, lain out in the sun with Uthor and Meryn, sparred with Kira and Tanton. She had learned the names of everybody on board her ship, the ship Ser Davos Seaworth had built to her every need (down to the direwolf at the helm and the direwolf sails), and in her head called them her Sea Pack.  _A wolf can swim, so why shouldn't I?_

The storms had hit, but Arya had not been scared.  _I am a wolf and will not be afraid_. She clutched at the Cats Paw dagger for comfort even as she smiled at the waves, the sheath the bright golden yellow which reminded her of him. He lived amongst the Storms now. She would learn to too.

As the weeks turned into months, land slowly began to appear at the horizon. The rationing of wine was instantly ceased, and a full blown celebration took place on board. Arya drank until her head felt giddy, laughed and smiled until her cheeks felt sore, and pulled off her cloak to dive into the water, Myriah by her side. 

_A wolf can swim, so why shouldn't I?_

The Dornish girl shrieked at how warm the sea was, and Arya shouted with her, marvelling at how the salty water made her float like the sails did on a windy day. The rest of the crew dived in to join them, dangerously drunk, but overjoyed that they'd done it. They'd sailed to what was West of Westeros. 

"The Wild Wolf did it!" Tanton had shouted, and she found his arms around her as the boy from the Reach shouted over and over how wonderful she was. They had momentarily dipped beneath the water together until she lightly smacked his arms away. "She can spar, she can sing,  _and she can fucking well sail_!"

Tanton had kissed her that night, hazy on wine, and she had lazily kissed him back but drew away after. He was her Sea Pack now, but his hair was too light. His eyes were too brown. She loved blue eyes brighter than the Sunset Sea, shyly gazing at her through dark strands of hair. Her body ached after Tanton kissed her, aching for the intimacy she had opened herself up to months before, but he wasn't what she wanted.

"Don't you want to know what it's like?" he'd asked, gently stroking her cheek.

"I know what it's like," Arya had replied simply, spinning away. 

Despite that refusal, Tanton had remained one of her most loyal crew members, as had Myriah. Others had found cities on the shores Ulthos and Sothoryos, then later the great cities of Qarth and Meereen, Lotus Point and Volantis, and had found people and jobs that they hadn't even realised they had been searching for until they arrived. New sailors arrived, the word of the Wild Wolf spreading across Essos, the first known Westerosi to sail west of Westeros - and survive to tell the tale. 

Arya had learned to draw maps, had painstakingly written down histories and languages into journals bound in Ulthosi leather. Myriah had helped her track down a cartographer in Pentos, and he had drawn up all of their discoveries. 

"It seems," he had said, eyes lighting up with joy, "that our lifelong assumption has been proved correct! The world is indeed round!" He had taken the maps, eyes shining. "May I keep these?"

"Provided you produce copies for us free of charge, yes," Arya had said back, and he had raised his eyebrows.

"You strike a hard bargain."

She'd tilted her head, a wry smile across her lips. Myriah had looked down, smirking. "I discovered it."

The cartographer had made an impressed "Hmmph" noise, but shook her hand. He provided multiple copies of the maps within the month, and from then the  _Nymeria_ and her Sea Pack sailed further North, to Braavos. 

Braavos had been a city of ghosts. It had been home, Arya supposed, for several years - a safehouse for her at the very least. She remembered wandering those canals as Mercy, as Cat of the Canals. It was strange to be back as Arya Stark - unashamedly Arya Stark, with Needle strapped safely to her side instead of hidden in rocks. She remembered walking the streets shouting,  _"Oysters, Clams, and Cockles!"_ , her hair twisted into two little buns framing her face. She had tried to blend in with the Braavosi people. Whereas now? Now she proudly walked the streets with her long hair in a loose braid, with Northern leathers and a Northern jerkin, her grey boots scuffed and worn and fully Westerosi. Her shirt was a warm yellow, from Qartheen silks. She was finally able to be who she was - Arya Stark, not No One, not an assassin. She was daughter of the North, a traveller, with love pouring out of her heart for her pack.

"It's time to go home," she finally said to Myriah and Tanton after a week in Braavos. 

"I think... I want to stay here," Tanton said nervously, fidgeting. "I... she..."

Arya gave him a knowing smile. In Pentos, they had met a Braavosi girl named Daena Foyaan, and had offered her passages back home. Tanton and Daena had grown close immediately, and it had soon become evident that Tanton would follow her to the ends of the world. 

"Stay," Arya said, stepping on tip toe to briefly kiss him on the cheek. "Be happy."

As she and Myriah turned away, back to  _Nymeria_ , back to her Sea Pack, back to Westeros, Tanton had called after her. "Arya - you be happy too."

She remembered those words as  _Nymeria_ bucked through the waves, sailing further North to Westeros and to White Harbour. Most of the crew had wanted to go directly to King's Landing, but Arya had put her foot down. "You're welcome to take  _Nymeria_ and sail her back to wherever you choose," she said simply. "You are my pack, and my friends. But I need to go North. I need to visit my sister."

Years ago, Arya would have found that notion bizarre - the notion of missing Sansa so much it was like an ache in her chest. But family was everything.  _The Lone Wolf dies, but the Pack survives_. And Sansa was her pack, her family, always. Two years apart when they had finally learned what it was to truly be  _sisters_ had been hard. But Arya had had to do this. She had had to heal. 

The little ship bucked in the waves, rain slashing down, weakening the wine in the cup she clutched to her chest. Her yellow silk shirt was dotted with sea spray, yet she remained at the helm, smiling.  _He lives amongst the storms now_ , she thought to herself.  _He's with me even now_. 

She took a deep breath and looked at the horizon. Two days. Two days and she would be back home. 

 

 

**BRAN**

 

"Well, those finances look in much better shape than before," Bran said, frowning over the book Edmure had placed in front of him. "But Uncle - unless you decrease rents on your land, I don't think we can rely on them  _remaining_ in good shape for much longer."

"Your Grace," Edmure said, "if we reduce rent, then surely it means less money is taken in? I want to do good for my people, but I cannot do good for them if the money is not in the Riverlands bank."

"If rent isn't decreased, the tenants will no longer be able to pay it. They may move to other areas in the Six Kingdoms," Meera interjected. "In the short term, yes, it may look like financial loss. But in the long term, it will mean greater investment in the Riverlands - both financially, and population wise. If people can afford to stay in their homes, they will."

Edmure sighed. "You make a strong argument, my Queen."

"It's been a long, hard winter," Bran said. "People  _want_ to farm again, and continue on with life as they did before. I know you have already taken many people into Riverrun who cannot afford tenancies, as you took them into Riverrun to protect them when Robb was at War. You have a kind heart, Uncle. But those people should be given the chance to farm their own lands, make a life for themselves. Riverrun is a wonderful place, but it isn't home - and you feeding all of them directly is only going to push the Riverlands into further deficit again."

"Alright," Edmure nodded. "How much would you advise reducing rent?"

"It depends where in the Riverlands the tenancies are," Meera pored over the map in front of them. "The lands around the Red Fork? They do need to be higher. The land is richer, the access to water is obviously easy. Fishing as well as traditional farming is a stronghold there. I would say those lands? Reduce my thirty per cent, at most."

"And the areas further from the Trident?"

"The Acorn Hall area is poorer, and the lands around the Twins people are superstitious about... courtesy of Arya," Bran smirked, and Edmure rolled his eyes. "Those lands must be reduced by fifty to sixty per cent. Enable the people around Acorn Hall to rebuild, and encourage people to return to the area surrounding the Twins. Nothing removes superstition quite like money."

Edmure nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"It's going well," Meera said earnestly. "Honestly. And I deeply respect you for taking so many people into Riverrun. But help them live for themselves now. These figures are encouraging, my lord."

"I'll report back again in a month," Edmure said. "And thank you, your Graces. I speak not just as an Uncle and a gooduncle here - but you two are also doing very well. I am thankful, every day, that you are my King and Queen."

"Thank you, Uncle Edmure," Bran smiled. "King's Landing is always welcome to you, always."

Edmure gestured at Meera. "When's the baby due?"

Meera flushed. "I'm about seven months along. Not long to go now. I hear your wife is expecting again?"

"Yes. She's much earlier along than you though. But we're very happy."

"I'm glad for you, Uncle," Bran said.

"And you, my dear nephew," Edmure stood up, tucking the book and maps beneath his arm. "I take my leave. I must get back and start implementing these changes at once."

"Very well," Bran agreed. "Oh, and Uncle?" he added, as Edmure began to walk away. "Arya's on her way back to Westeros."

A smile lit up Edmure's entire face at that. "What? You - you saw that? In your..." Edmure waved his spare hand about.

"In my visions, yes," Bran rolled his eyes. "She's sailing from Braavos to White Harbour, to go and visit Sansa. But she'll be back in the Capital soon."

"What makes you so sure?"

"She has unfinished business in the Stormlands..."

Meera hit him.

"I'm going to put that under 'Something I probably should be glad I don't understand'," Edmure said, looking quizzically at Bran. "I will see you soon, your Grace." He bowed his head, and walked away, shaking his head and smiling. 

"Meera," Bran said, once Edmure was out of view, "can you get me some parchment and a quill? I need to write a letter to Sansa and Theon..."

"Whatever it is you're doing," Meera said, crossing the room to fetch the supplies, "I hope  _you_ understand at any rate."

"Oh, I make it up as I go along really," Bran said, shrugging. 

"What are you writing to Sansa about?"

"She needs to know her sister is returning to her within a few days, surely?"

"Yes," Meera said, eyes narrowing as she put the parchment, quill, and inkwell in front of Bran, "but I  _know_ you Brandon Stark, and I don't believe for a moment that's all that you're writing.  _What plan are you concocting_?"

"It breaks my heart you think so little of me," Bran said, false innocence across his face. "I am simple writing to my beloved sister to inform her of our other beloved sister's homecoming!"

"You're stirring, Bran. You're stirring."

He winked, dipping the quill into the inkwell. "I am the Three Eyed Raven. I live for drama."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, Edmure is quite different in this to how he is in the show. That's because he's much more closely based to his book counterpart - and book!Edmure is a somewhat naive but genuinely caring, kind hearted man. I decided I'd much rather channel that character to be Lord of the Riverlands. 
> 
> Credit to all of the online memes for Bran's "I live for drama" line. I couldn't help myself, it had to be done!


	3. The Kraken and the Wolf

**SANSA**

 

_Sansa and Theon,_

_I hope this message receives you well. I try my best not to look at your lives too much, as I respect the fact you wish to have levels of privacy, but from what I've seen over the last few months - I hope you understand I believe Mother and Father (and Robb) would be very proud of you. To see the North thriving, and Winterfell so full of children. You are building a better life for our people, and for those children. I am forever grateful._

_Thank you also for the hard work you have done in solidifying the bonds between the Ironborn and the Northerners, and by extension the Ironborn and the Six Kingdoms. I know that of all of the Six Kingdoms, the Iron Islands have the greatest level of self-rule, and I know this is in large part down to you two. I am grateful that they see themselves as having a say in both our Kingdoms, through your work Theon, and that together you have firmly ended the history of raiding and raping. Yara's loyalty will always be to Daenerys, and I know this is a source of bitterness between us all, but I am glad that Theon has ensured she kept her promise of bringing the Ironborn into a newer, more peaceful way of life. I am sure they are always welcome in a Kingdom ruled by both a kraken **and** a wolf. _

_Meera is doing well. Only about two months until our child is born. Naturally, I expect you to make the journey to come and visit us when our child is finally with us. I know you would do this anyway, but I wish to reiterate that you are always welcome here (and I will clout you around the heads if you don't come and visit your niece or nephew) (or at the very least, Meera **certainly** will clout you around the heads). _

_However, this letter is not simply a catch up well wishing letter. (I am King, would life ever be that simple)._

_Arya is on her way home. As I write this, she is on the **Nymeria** between Braavos and White Harbour. I suspect she wished to come and visit you first as a surprise - so, um, SURPRISE! She'll have some level of surprise that you are married anyway, so I haven't ruined everything... I would love to say that I am telling you this simply for you to prepare for her visit (and if you wish to credit me by saying that  **is** why I wrote you, please do, the wrath of Arya is something I do not particularly enjoy) (she should be with you by the end of the week) (see, I CAN be useful). However, I actually require your help on two accounts._

_Firstly, I have long since known Arya is **the** perfect person to fulfil a missing place on my Council, as Master of Whispers. Her travels have gained her many contacts across the world, and her abilities make her the perfect person to gain intel when required. Her natural way of being around people, how easily people trust her, her ease around the common folk, we all know these are wonderful qualities our sister has. But she needs a nudge before I raise this with her - if you bring it up how this is still a job I am searching for someone to fill, it may plant the seeds of an idea in her head._

_Secondly, and connected to this, I am still working on persuading Lord Baratheon to take the role of Master of Laws. As someone who **was** one of the common folk until two years ago, he knows better than any how us highborns playing our games affect those who are just trying to get by on a day to day basis. He is just, and fair, and has brought kindness to the Storm Lands. I don't expect you to understand why I am telling you this, as it is not my place to tell our sister's secrets. But whilst you speak with her about these things, I need you to tell her that Gendry remains unmarried. He is a beloved lord, bringing a new age to the Storm Lands, but he has rejected every suitor - and he walks the halls of Storm's End with a cloak of grey, and a jerkin with claw marks on the shoulders._

_This reads like a riddle, and Meera has told me to stop stirring - but who would I be as a brother (and a King who simply wants what is best for the realm) (my winning sentence every time) if I did not inform you of these things?_

_Love to you both,_

_Bran_

 

Sansa finished reading the letter out loud and passed it across to Theon. His eyes had welled up with tears at the mention of Robb - no matter how many times Sansa had told him that Robb would fully forgive him, and would be proud of him, she suspected it was something he would never fully accept. But Bran saying it too, without Sansa telling him to do so? Sansa knew her husband well enough to know that would mean the world to Theon. 

"So," he said finally, meeting her eyes, "Arya's coming home."

A tentative smile spread across Sansa's face. The last two years had been the happiest she'd known since she was a girl of thirteen; but she had missed her sister. The pack had been scattered, and whilst she was safe and happy, she mourned the presence of her siblings by her side. "Yes. So she is."

"We'll make up her old room for her. I'm sure she'd like that."

Sansa nodded. Theon seemed lost in thought as she looked at him, so she reached for his hand, playing his fingers through her own. "What is it?"

"It's just... you're her sister. What was Bran talking about with Gendry Baratheon?"

"I honestly have no idea. They were friends, I think. She was often spotted down in the forges before the War, back when he supervised the dragon glass weapons," Sansa frowned. "Maybe I missed something. We'll ask when she returns."

"And we have to persuade her to take a  _job_?"

To this Sansa laughed out loud. "I don't know  _what_ Bran is thinking. Since when was it possible to  _make_ Arya do anything at all?"

"Well..." Theon looked thoughtful. "From what I remember, the best way to make Arya do something is to try and tell her she can't. Didn't your mother always say that anything you told Arya not to do -"

" - became Arya's heart's desire. Yes, I remember," Sansa smiled, remembering. "You may be onto something there."

"I'm glad Meera is in good health," Theon continued, his free hand twisting the piece of paper. "It will be good to meet our niece or nephew."

"Yes, it will."

"I just..."

"Don't." Sansa knew where he was going, and she didn't want to hear it.

"I can't give you what Bran has given Meera. I can never..."

Sansa reached her other hand across, so she was holding his hand with both of hers. "Theon. Two years ago, when we made promises to each other under the Heart Tree, do you think I would have ever agreed to anything if I wasn't  _absolutely sure_ it was what I wanted? I love you.  _You_ are everything I could ever want or need.  _Everything_. Do you hear me?"

Theon looked down, the shaky nervousness that Ramsay had embedded into him coming over him again. This happened far less these days, but when feeling upset with himself, it was like an old twinge that came back into place.

"I mean it," Sansa continued, quieter. "You give me everything I ever need simply by being  _here_ , with me, protecting me, loving me. That is  _all_ I need." She gestured to the Great Hall they were sat in, where banners of white with the grey direwolf unfurled on the east wall, whilst banners of black with the golden kraken unfurled on the west wall. "We're family. You give me  _everything_ that Bran gives Meera."

She meant every word. She had a life of safety, of love, of security now; and Theon was an integral part of that. The Northerners had forgiven him, and now saw the Ironborn as their strongest allies. They would never forget how the Ironborn had protected Bran down to their last, how Theon had taken a knife to the gut to protect him. They would never forget how their Queen sat by Theon's side for weeks after, furiously refusing to even contemplate the idea that he would die. He was good enough for their Queen. So he was good enough for them. Northerners were loyal to the Starks, and the Starks were loyal to the Greyjoys. 

The door banged open and Sansa hesitantly took her hands off Theon's. A small boy with auburn hair was stood in the open doorway, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside. Sansa and Theon didn't have favourites of the orphans they had taken in, but this one had slowly but surely carved a place in Sansa's heart - maybe because he reminded her of how Rickon had looked when he was younger.

"Ned!" Sansa exclaimed, standing up and walking over to the little orphaned boy from Karhold. 

"They said to come and find you, Robbin accidentally broke Lyla's toy horse, and she's screaming," he said in a rush.

"We had better go and help them then," Sansa said warmly, holding her hand out to the little boy. She held her other hand out for Theon, who made his way across the hall in four large strides. 

"See?" she said, turning to him with a smile on her face as Ned continued talking at top speed, leading them out of the hall, "Everything I need is right here. And soon my sister will be here too."

A smile spread across Theon's lips. 

 

 

**GENDRY**

 

"Davos, I am not having this conversation with you  _again_ ," Gendry rolled his eyes and walked over to the window, a roll of parchment in his hand. "I have a list as long as my arm of things to do this week - look at this! Tenancy agreements, renegotiating the training of boys  _and_ girls (we're ending this 'men only' nonsense, I don't care how many times I have to shout it), Bran needs a report on the economic situation in the Storm Lands, the latest storm has wrecked the houses down by the bay, I have  _things to do_."

"And as your advisor, I have to continue this conversation with you, as requested by our King," Davos said firmly. "He has been asking you for two years to be his Master of Law. We both know you would do an excellent job of it. Why do you keep refusing him?"

Gendry sighed, sitting down on the window seat, the breeze ruffling the grey fur in the claw marks of his jerkin. "Because my job is here. My people are here. I'm still doing my best to be a good Lord, I don't want to be running over to King's Landing every other week."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean, 'that's all'? Davos, you have served others before me, but you know when it comes to truth, I am like Jon. I never say words I don't mean."

"I'll grant you that, but there's a fine line between speaking true words and deliberately  _missing out_ true words."

Gendry laughed slightly at that. "I know Bran thinks I would be good in that role. But I can't  _think_ about anything other than - this. Not for now."

"Is that why you've rejected every Lady in the land as well?" Davos raised his eyebrows. "Or is there... another reason?"

Gendry fixed Davos with a glare. "I don't have  _time_ to contemplate that, and you know it."

"Your clothing could say otherwise," Davos gestured at the claw marks on Gendry's jerkin, and Gendry dropped eye contact immediately. "People talk. They remember how your father -"

"How my father was in love with Lyanna Stark, and never recovered from her rejection? How they think I'm doing the same thing?" A cold edge came into Gendry's voice.  _Ours is the Fury._ "I am not my father."

"No. Thank the gods."

"My father claimed to love Lyanna Stark, but he whored around. He drank, he was a lazy, arrogant ruler, who bedded a different woman every night. He married out of duty, and then abandoned that woman too." Gendry met Davos' eyes again. "I won't marry for duty. I want to bring a new age into the Storm Lands, and I'm trying to. An age of equality, freedom, kindness. I cannot do that by example if I marry somebody I don't love."

"But you're not waiting for the She Wolf?"

Gendry shrugged. "She's been gone for two years. Nobody knows where she is. I'm not  _waiting_ for her, I'm not putting my life on hold for her - look around my lands, you can see that I'm not."

Davos sighed. "I don't know what happened between you two -"

"Nor will you. It's our business."

" - but your life must go on. You know I see you as a son. You know I want you to be happy."

"I  _am_ happy. But I  _won't_ be happy marrying out of duty. Do you not see? The moment I accept one of those proposals simply out of duty, I won't be being the Lord I vowed to be when I took this castle, these lands, this Lordship. I'm not saying I won't ever marry. Nor am I saying I will only ever love Arya Stark. But for now..."

"For now, you still do."

Gendry jerked his head non-commitedly. "Davos, we've known each other since we were children. I finally found her again, and then she vanished without a trace. I'm only twenty-five. There's no rush for me to settle down and love someone else yet. I don't even know if I still love her. I just know nobody else has come close. And," the fierceness reappeared in his voice, "I am  _not_ my father. I will  _not_ do what he did."

Davos cleared his throat, and pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket. It rustled in the breeze from the window as he held it out to Gendry.

"It might interest you to know then, that a letter came from King Bran today."

Gendry reached for it, and immediately rolled his eyes. "If this is you trying to get back to talking about being Master of Law,  _again_ -"

"No. Well, yes. But no," Davos shuffled his feet awkwardly as Gendry fixed him with a confused look. "... Arya Stark is on her way back to Westeros. And from what our King said, it sounds as though it is a permanent homecoming this time."

Gendry pulled the parchment out of Davos' hand, feeling a flush creep up his neck and cheeks.  _She was coming home_. 

"She was last spotted on a boat from Braavos, headed to White Harbour. Dressed in black and gold, with a bull pendant around her neck." Davos gave Gendry a knowing look.

Gendry felt as though the entire world had been wrenched from beneath his feet as he scanned the letter, barely taking the words in. Two years of telling himself he didn't love her as fiercely as he used to seemed to vanish in one instant.

_She's coming home. She's coming back home._


	4. Wolves Must Be Brave

**ARYA**

 

The rough sea gave way to smoother waters as they neared Westeros, but the closer they drew to the continent so did the number of icebergs. Winter was still drawing to a close, the  _Nymeria_ 's hired Captain from Braavos told Arya as they began to sail so slowly Arya could have sworn she could swim faster. 

"Is there no way of going any faster?" she said nervously, biting at her lip at the same time as playing with the end of her braid. 

Myriah's warm brown hand clasped her friend's shoulder. "Arya, we're a day away at most. Wouldn't you rather we reached White Harbour in one piece instead of met our ends at the bottom of the ocean?"

Arya frowned at the icebergs they were slowly making their way through. "They don't  _look_ that dangerous."

The Captain laughed, a harsh bark amongst the near silence of the icy world around them. "No, my lady, they don't. But under that beautiful summit is a block of ice ten times the size, and with fierce and unforgiving teeth. One wrong move, and it would tear the  _Nymeria_ to shreds."

Arya's eyes widened and she gulped. They had spent so long in warmer waters, where the greatest danger was a storm brought on by endless days of heat, that she had almost forgotten the dangers of ice and cold. She felt like an idiot.  _You are daughter of the North_ , a voice quietly reminded her in her head.  _You are a wolf, and wolves must be brave_. She was one of the North, of the ice. These would not scare her.

 _Be strong, just as you were strong amongst the storms_ , she reminded herself. Absent-mindedly, she touched the bull pendant that hung around her neck. She had drawn strength from it in the storms, and now she would draw strength from it amongst the ice - just as she had drawn strength from a very real bull amongst the worst ice she had seen in her life. The feeling of a hand so cold it felt on fire seemed to suddenly be at her throat again, and Arya swallowed hard.

"Go as slow as you need to," she finally said. "But how long until we reach White Harbour do you suppose?"

The Captain looked up at the sky, then across the ice field again. "I'd say the end of the day is still manageable. You see -" he pulled a map out of his pocket, "- we're only  _here_." He pointed to the map, to a harbour labelled the Bite. "We passed those islands in the night, and they were surrounded by the most perilous of the icebergs. We're now just slowly making our way to the edges of the field. I still think we will reach White Harbour tonight, my lady."

Arya nodded, content. "Have ravens been sent to House Manderly?"

"Yes, my lady. We sent several first thing this morning. Lord Wyman Manderly should greet us, and give us somewhere to stay for the night. Your sister's kind rule of the North has ensured loyalty to the Starks continue. Even us Braavosi know of it."

Myriah smiled at Arya, and with a final nod, Arya turned away from the Captain and went back into her quarters, Myriah close behind her.

"Do you wish for me to stay with you at Winterfell, or should I leave you at White Harbour?" Myriah asked as the door shut behind them and Arya plonked herself down onto her bed, pulling her boots off and crossing her legs beneath her.

Arya blinked. "I - I don't make  _any_ demands of you, Myriah. If you want to come with me to Winterfell, I'd love you to. But if you want to stay behind at White Harbour, you're also more than welcome to do that. I'm only captain in name; we hire the Captains who  _truly_ run the ship."

"You call us your Sea Pack," Myriah said slowly, sitting down next to Arya as Arya began to shuffle through various maps and pieces of paper. 

"Because you are," Arya said fiercely. "But I don't own any of you. Tanton left in Braavos, and that was the right thing for him. I would never have forced him to come with us. But Myriah - if you want to come to Winterfell, please, come. My sister would be more than happy to accommodate you, I promise."

"Have you spoken to her since you left?"

Arya shook her head. "I sent her the odd thing from Essos and Sothoryos. But she had no way of contacting me, and I liked that. I've heard she's doing well though - people call her the Red Wolf now," she added, her voice was swelling with pride. "Some people say she's married, some say she's the fierce solo wolf. Whichever is true, I hope she's happy. The North is free, thanks to her."

Myriah paused. "Can I ask a question?"

"You just did," Arya said, amused, "but feel free to ask another one."

"You call us your Sea Pack. You call your sister the Red Wolf, your brothers the Winged Wolf and the White Wolf... we call you the Wild Wolf... you're a Stark. Wolves are everything."

"Yes, they are."

"Then... why is it you wear a bull pendant, not a wolf one?"

Arya flushed, hand flying self consciously to the pendant that hung around her neck. She looked down, cheeks reddening by the second.

"I'm sorry," Myriah said hurriedly. "I didn't mean to -"

"No," Arya looked up, still red. "It's alright. I'm not  _embarrassed_ , it's just -"

"Is it... from a man? Is that why you rejected Tanton?"

"It isn't  _from_ a man," Arya said, and she suddenly sounded tired. "But it is why I rejected Tanton. I... before we left Westeros, I was given it. I always called him 'the Bull'. I didn't plan on ever seeing him again, so... I wanted this with me."

"Do you love him?"

Arya went deathly quiet. "I... I think I did once."

Myriah nodded, seemingly content with the answer, and picked up some of the pieces of paper Arya had scattered over the bed. But Arya's mind was a thousand miles away, thinking back to two years before...

 

 _T_ _hey were sat on one of the cliff edges of King's Landing, having clambered through the edges of the Red Keep's gardens to get there. Night had already started to fall, and Arya felt a hand squeezing her heart as they wove their way to the cliff edge. Her heart squeezed yet tighter as they sat down, his eyes still brilliant blue even in the darkness. His hair had started to grow again, no longer the short strands that she had desperately tried to grab at months previously. It was starting to fall into his eyes, and for a mad moment Arya wanted nothing more than to reach forward and run her hands through the thick, dark strands._

_"You wanted to talk to me," Gendry finally said, quietly. Hurt still clouded his voice - hurt she knew she had put there, and didn't know how to remove it._

_Arya nodded._

_"So talk," Gendry said bluntly. He may be a Lord now, but in many ways he was still the sarcastic, despairing youth she had known as a child._

_"I'm leaving," she said quietly. "Right after we elect a new King or Queen tomorrow."_

_"Are you so sure that's what we're doing? I thought we were discussing what's happening to Jon?"_

_"Gendry," she said witheringly. "All the High Lords and Ladies of Westeros have been asked to discuss the 'situation' as Tyrion puts it. If we don't discuss who's going to be the next ruler, then I'm no longer an orphan."_

_"Did you just -" Gendry's mouth fell open._

_"Make a joke at my own personal expense? Yes. I did. Wine?" she asked, continuing as if she'd said nothing at all outrageous, and holding out the skin of wine she had brought with them._

_Gendry shook his head, muttering to himself. Arya could have sworn amongst the mutterings he said "This is why I love you" but she swallowed, deciding not to call it out. She couldn't cope with that right now, not when she had decided to leave._

_"So, you're invited to the meeting tomorrow?"_

_"Yes," Arya gave him a puzzled look. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

_Gendry looked pained, and for once Arya knew it wasn't just because he was thinking. "You told me a month ago that you aren't a Lady. But you're enough of a Lady to be invited to a meeting **only** involving the High Lords and Ladies of Westeros?"_

_"Gendry, that isn't what I -"_

_"No, **no** ," Gendry said, grabbing at the wine skin and taking a gulp. Arya wanted to look away, but didn't. Ever since she had seen him across the hallway in the Red Keep earlier in the day, she had known this conversation was coming. She had steeled herself for it. _

_"Arya, you might not want to call yourself a Lady, but that is who you **are**. Who's family castle were we stood in when I asked that question, because it sure as hell wasn't mine. You  **know** when I asked you... what I asked... I wasn't asking you to become a woman who sits around all day sewing! I would  **never** have stopped you from being who you are! And you  **know** that! It's just..." Gendry sagged, the anger fading as fast as it had flared up. "All my life, I've been the bottom of the barrel. The scum, as some would put it. I know you don't see it that way," he added defensively, as Arya opened her mouth. "But I - I was drunk, I admit it. But I was finally given something that made me  **worthy** of you, that made us  **equals**. You could have worn tunics and pants and swords every day for all of our lives for all I cared. In fact, I'd rather you did that," he said, stubbornly._

_"I know," Arya whispered. "But... I have to leave, Gendry. I can't stay here, with all this hate and all these memories."_

_"You don't have any hateful memories at Storm's End," he said, even quieter. Gendry looked up to meet her eyes, bright blue into stormy grey. "Where are you going?"_

_"What's West of Westeros?" she said cryptically._

_Gendry snorted. "Essos."_

_Arya hadn't expected that answer. "What?"_

_Gendry rolled his eyes. "Every kid in Fleabottom grows up with those stories. Elissa Farman took her ship the **Sun Chaser** to sail West, and reached Asshai. Just as you grew up having Lords and Ladies names recited to you, we grew up with the legendary tales of people we would never be as successful as."_

_"That's not true."_

_"Which part?"_

_"I -"_

_"Fleabottom folk are taught early to keep downtrodden," Gendry shrugged. "But if you mean the West of Westeros part, well... would make sense wouldn't it? Wait," he paused, frowning, as he put two and two together. The frown between his brows filled Arya with the mad urge to lean forward and kiss it. "You're not planning on sailing across the Sunset Sea are you?"_

_Arya nodded. "I want to see it for myself Gendry. I want to... heal. Go places. See things. Meet new people."_

_"And who's money are you using to do that?"_

_Arya knew she was walking into a trap. "The Stark family money."_

_"Yet you say you're not a Lady."_

_Arya glared._

_Gendry sighed with defeat. "Before you go then..." he reached into the pocket of his jerkin, pulling out a chain with a pendant hanging on it. "Take this with you." He passed it across to Arya, not looking at her as he did, instead choosing to fiddle with the ties of the wineskin._

_Arya gently took the pendant and chain from him, opening her palm to look at it properly. It was made of steel; folded and shaped to form a bull's head._

_"That's what I was going to give you before I... got legitimised and lost my head. I made it for you." Arya looked at him, and saw he was blushing. "Take it with you. Even if you settle down in Essos and I never see you again... at least my best friend Arry will always have a part of me with her."_

_It was too much. Arya felt her throat closing up and she couldn't help herself. She crawled across the gap between them, and flung her arms around his neck. He smelled of woodsmoke and sweat and **Gendry**. However much she told herself turning him down was right, and that she wouldn't miss him, a small part of her yelled at her for the idea of ever leaving him behind. Gendry gently took her face between his hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks, and reached to kiss her on the forehead. _

_"I'll always wait for you," he whispered._

_"That's not fair of me to ask of you," Arya whispered back._

_" **You're** not asking it of me," he said, cocking his head. He kissed her properly then, and Arya wasn't sure who's tears she was tasting - his or hers. _

_Gendry always knew Arya better than anyone else, and left soon after, knowing she needed time by herself. She hoped he found a life beyond her, truly - yet she hung the chain around her neck, her heart thumping as the pendant fell perfectly between her breasts. And when she came to the meeting the next day, and saw him in a jerkin with claw marks ("Wolves mate for life you know" Maester Luwin had once told her), she had to work hard to hide a smile._

 

"Arya?" Myriah's voice jerked Arya out of her reverie.

"Hmmm?" 

"Did you not just hear what the Captain said on deck? White Harbour was closer than he thought. You can see it already. We'll be making port within the next hour."

Arya scrambled up from the bed, not caring that her feet were bare and the outside was cold. She hurtled down the corridor and up the stairs to the deck of the ship, desperate to see the land she had once been so desperate to leave behind.

The city of White Harbour lay in front of them, all white and blue and glass. The sigil of House Manderly hung from the ships they were passing now - aquamarine with a merman and a trident.

"You're almost home," Myriah said gently from next to Arya.

"Yes," Arya whispered, feeling tears building in her throat. "Yes, I am."


End file.
